


Pemmican and Pandas

by Tigresse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Johnny boy is horny, M/M, Pandas, Plot What Plot, Shameless Smut, Sleeping Bags, Teaching Big Bro a Lesson to Respect Privacy, Tents, pemmican, sherlock is a dork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:34:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22867186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: John comes home to a strangely obsessed Sherlock
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	Pemmican and Pandas

John Watson had, _during his several years with Sherlock Holmes_ , got used to all kinds of surprises when he got back home after a few days of traveling, be it for business or personal reasons. Not that he traveled alone too often, since his alternate profession as a general surgeon was limited to a private clinic in London and the two days he visited Barts as a consulting surgeon. But there were times when he visited a different city to attend a friend’s wedding or a rare occasion abroad when he had to attend a medical conference or seminar.

This time he had spent a whole week in Interlaken, Switzerland, training for a new surgical training that required minimum invasiveness and could be done in half the time as compared to the older open surgery methods. The trip was extended by two days as the group of surgeons decided to visit an Alpine village and spend a night at a boutique hotel there, where each bedroom had a conservatory like area and a hot tub there, so one could see the stars and get an outdoorsy feeling as they soaked in nice warm to moderately hot water.

A feeling of guilt had besieged him and therefore he came back home _laden with gifts,_ from a personalized Zippo Lighter for Sherlock, a cigarette case, the detective’s favorite bottle of Bourbon, a nice thigh-length parka coat (for a change from the usual trench coat or frock coats Sherlock wore) and even a couple of books he knew his partner would enjoy. But, as he opened the front door and entered the house, the look he saw on Mrs. Hudson’s face confused him. She looked quite…..blank. He suspected something was either completely wrong or it was all completely normal. But Sherlock Holmes and normal mixed like oil and water, so that was just _not possible._

“Mrs. Hudson,” John handed her a package, “A small gift from Switzerland. I stayed a day at Zurich and bought this, it was on the window of the hotel’s gift shop.”

“What a pretty purse, thank you John,” she beamed, “Had a nice trip?”

“Very nice and productive, thanks.”

“Ten days is a bit too long though.”

“I know. I missed him a lot. Is he…. _okay_?”

“That’s the funny thing this time….he seems okay. At least I didn’t notice anything wrong, neither did Mycroft. He visited every day since you had left, just in case his baby brother needed something. One day even that fellow came, Jim Moriarty….sorry, he told me to call him Richard Brook or he’d skin me alive and use me a prop for some documentary on famines.”

John rolled his eyes, “Some people don’t change. So, no turbulence when he visited, right?”

“None at all. They went out for some space show….or some celestial activity that needs to be viewed through telescopes and all that, probably had dinner at some Italian eatery and then Sherlock came back, alone. I know they had Italian because I washed Sherlock’s shirt the next day. Saw spaghetti and panna cotta bits on his shirt as I put it into the machine. Anyways, you go along now. I’ll get you some tea soon.”

“Thank you Mrs. Hudson. Some biscuits too please, and a banana if you will. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast and I doubt he’s cooked any dinner for me.”

***

John opened the door to their flat and held it open with his foot, picked up a duffel bag in each hand and entered the living room. Something seemed out of place immediately even though the flat seemed surprisingly fresh, airy and clean. There was no foul smell nor any dust, the windows were open and the furniture was mostly in place. Mrs. Hudson was right, she had cleaned regularly and hadn’t noticed anything unusual. But then what…… _oh that_! John blinked but the picture refused to change. Yes, there it was _, the anomaly_. There was a _huge indoor tent right there_ , in the _middle_ of their sitting room.

“Sherlock?”

“Oh there you are Jawn, welcome back home.” The voice came from the kitchen, _yes, the kitchen_ , and John got a start. Was he up to one of his crazy experiments again? Was that the reason for such quietness…..but still, nothing made sense when he thought about the tent. What did that symbolize? What was it for? John padded into the kitchen and smiled when he saw Sherlock, his baby boy, standing there in just a pair of grey-blue pajamas that rode quite low on his hips. As Sherlock moved across the kitchen, John even saw a hint of a butt crack.

Licking his lips he said, “Come to the bedroom.”

Sherlock blinked, “For sex?”

“Nope, so I can measure your femur! Of course Sherl, I am a man and I need sex. It’s been a while and I want you, _now.”_

“But I am _making pemmican_.”

“Pom…pem….peem…what is that?”

Sherlock turned and his expression was priceless. All his feelings summarized in just a look of disdain. “You have never heard of pemmican? Really? It is like jerky but not jerky, made of elk, moose or bison meat and berries or other flavoring agents and rendered fat, best if grass fed bison kidney fat is used. Very portable and nourishing, keeps for decades and very, very popular amongst a certain group!!”

John frowned, “Which group?”

“Ancient hunters, traders and nomads in North America, the mountainous parts.”

John suppressed a grin. Trust Sherlock to mentioned ‘popular in a group’ in a manner that could so easily deceive someone into thinking it was a current and contemporary group of people that liked this dish. He must have failed to completely suppress his amusement because Sherlock looked at him crossly and crossed his arms over his chest, pout forming on his lips. “Pemmican, my dear fellow, is survival food. If there is another Great War and we need to hide in bunkers, if there are natural calamities due to Global Warming and deforestation, if there are any extra-terrestrial attacks or even civil war, discord, terrorist activities, we can survive for years on pemmican.”

John nodded, amusement still written large on his face as he looked at what Sherlock was doing. The things Sherlock said to justify his eccentricities! In situations he described, there were many other needs that one had, including water, oxygen, shelter, medical supplies, even some amount of other foods to help sustain a natural balance in the body, but pemmican was most important, of course!

“You still don’t get it do you?” The detective asked.

“No, no, _I do,”_ John said quickly, not wishing to be denied sex later, “I do. I get it baby boy! One must never underestimate pemmican.”

“You’re not _joking_.”

“I am _not_ joking.”

“Hmmmfff!”

“Okay, I am interested. How do I make you believe me on this? Alright, fine, tell me what have you been doing to make this pelican…sorry, pemmican?”

“I dried the meat…no, I first sliced the meat really thin, no actually Jim did that for me when he came here. Then I put it in a dehydrator. When it became brittle and just broke into two like a cracker I powdered it. Then I rendered the fat…actually, I got the neighborhood kid Alan to get that done by his mum. She is my fan and gladly did that in exchange for one of my briefs…..”

_“BRIEFS???”_

Sherlock blinked, “No, case briefs, notes, from a past case.”

John exhaled, relieved. “Okay, so you had powdered meat, rendered fat…..”

“And some berries, I used blue berries and rock salt, some dried powdered garlic. Mixed it all up. I added too much fat so I had to add some almond powder to firm it up….no, I had Mrs. Hudson do that for me. Eventually I supervised it all, I am the one who made this pemmican.”

He proudly showed five different lumps to John. One was like a de-shaped granola bar, one was a globe, one was a weird shape that looked like a map of Spain and the last two were like normal rectangular energy bars. So Sherlock had finally got a hang of it. “I am making more of them,” Sherlock showed rows and rows of dried meat, dried berries, dried garlic, salt, sugar, even a pot of honey and a large jar of rendered, filtered fat.

As he spoke, Sherlock stood on tiptoes to reach out for something kept on the top shelf of the kitchen and his pajamas slid down just a little more. John’s eyes obviously went there and this time the already aroused and sex-starved doctor didn’t try the gentlemanly route of asking. He acted like a caveman, a brute, and grabbed Sherlock by his hips. The younger man yelped, legs suddenly lifted off the ground as the former army-man once again showed his superior strength and carried him over his shoulder, right out of the kitchen and away from this survival bullshit and the seemingly unsightly….pemmican.

“Wooh….what….Jawn….owwww!”

John knew he couldn’t make it to the bedroom, not in his _current condition_. Sherlock’s spicy, woody, delectable scent had leapt to his nostrils and he could no longer hold back his urges. He had to have him right away.

That was when the tent came in _handy._ Silently thanking Sherlock for this rather unconventional move he carried the detective towards it and tossed him down on the sleeping bags kept inside. Two of them had been strapped together to make a single one and it served John’s purpose just fine. In a flash he had taken his cock out and held it temptingly before Sherlock who moaned, licked his lips and opened his mouth wide to take the fully erect huge cock inside his wet oral cavern.

“Fuccckkk,” John said leaning over Sherlock’s groin to push down his pajamas and release the hard length that was trapped there. Sherlock had stiffened remarkably quick, considering how engrossed he was in making that confounded pemmican. John swallowed the head and started stroking over the shaft and instantly drops of precum poured on his tongue while Sherlock’s stifled moaned filled his ears.

The two men found the perfect rhythm and pace, moved in harmonious but frenzied motions, until Sherlock erupted with a string of curses, throaty moans and strange yelping noises. Warm cream filled John’s mouth and he swallowed it all, hips jerking when his own orgasm closed in.

Sherlock had let go of his cock as he came, so he quickly ducked his head and swallowed John again, just in time to catch half the seed on his tongue while the other half spilled on his chin.

***

Sherlock was riding John hard, the entire tent shaking from their movements as John kept thrusting up again and again into the moist snug heat he was buried in. Sherlock’s arse was the best thing he had ever experienced, snug and gripping and always caving in to his thick girth, accommodating it like an eager but virginal pouch.

“This tent…..” John rasped out between grunts of pleasure, “…. _why?”_

“Surv…ival….survival situationnnn….aaahh,” Sherlock went and grabbed John’s right hand, leading it to his erect cock that slapped noisily against John’s abs every time the detective rose and fell on him. John obliged, not asking any further. Whatever inhibitions he had about Sherlock putting up a tent in the middle of the room and making some odd medieval survival food was totally gone with the latest developments. He found it rather nice and arousing to have sex on the sleeping bag, with the tent shaking around them. Even though he knew this was make believe it gave an impression of fucking during a campfire night and it stoked his libido and desires a notch higher.

“Jawn,” Sherlock warned, voice hoarse from all the moaning and shouting, _“Close.”_

“Mmm, me too,” John replied breathily, grabbing Sherlock’s hip with his free hand and fucking him hard, “Oh fuck, _too close!”_

“Yes, yes, yes!”

“Fuck.”

“Here it comes!!”

“Sherlock! Yeah!”

Sherlock stiffened completely atop John and spilled out his release over him, throwing his head back and spreading his thighs even wider apart. John grabbed his balls and gave it a squeeze, coaxing out all that he had as his younger lover groaned through his second orgasm. As soon as Sherlock was done, John realized he had cum too and not even concentrated on those moments. It had been spontaneous, pleasurable but remained in the background of Sherlock’s climax, subtle in its manifestations. But the aftershocks more than made up for it as John felt himself come apart and then piece back together again, spasms running through each and every inch of his limbs.

“Pandas….”

John blinked a few times, “What?”

_“Pandas,”_ Sherlock said as he continued to shake and pant from his orgasm, “I-I read about them, they eat kilos and kilos of bamboo and poop kilos and kilos as well.” He paused to catch his breath and added, “Lazy, very cuddly but lazy, can grow to large proportions, they are loners and prefer to be on their own….they are so comatose at times that they…..” again a pause and a deep breath, “Sometimes _fall asleep_ during sex.”

John was sure he had begun to laugh even before Sherlock had finished saying all that. Trust this man to say things that were completely peculiar, totally out of place and absolutely disconnected from the present moment.

“Baby boy,” he said as he pulled out with a soft moan, earning a corresponding ‘uhhh’ from Sherlock as their connection snapped, “C’mere first.” He pulled the taller man down on his chest and cuddled him, locking him in with arms and legs as Sherlock wrapped himself around John like a koala around a branch. Despite the difference in their heights John had always felt like the larger, stronger, more robust amongst the two; someone who felt a need to protect Sherlock from the world, from situations, even from his own self. “I have no idea why you thought of pandas right after we had sex but I’m not offended by that. Knowing you, it’s either a case _involving pandas_ or someone who has the _characteristics of a panda.”_

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded, glad that John had read his mind, _“Mycroft.”_

John chuckled aloud.

“No, I am serious. I was doing an animal profiling. Jim is a spider, can also pass off as a fox. Sebastian is a tiger, sometimes a panther. You are a wolf at times and a hedgehog the next. Mycroft of course is a panda, no two words about that…..”

“Hedgehog? _Me?_ Why? How? In which way?”

“You can be quite prickly if you don’t get your morning tea, dinner in the evening and sex at night before bedtime.”

“Um…..”  
  


Right at that moment the door to the flat, which neither of them had bothered to close due to their need to ‘reconnect’ crashed open and in walked a suited, booted, poker-faced and umbrella wielding Mycroft Holmes. At first he had that snooty, affected look on his face but that rapidly changed into shock, then into horror and finally into mortification. Of all the things he had expected, this was not even on the horizon. Seeing his brother naked on top of an equally naked John, the evidence of their pleasure on their skin and in the air, embarrassed Mycroft to the skin and he flushed a bright tomato red.

“Hiya,” Sherlock _waved_ at him.

“What the….John, I expected better from you.”

John rolled his eyes. This was his house and Sherlock was his partner, technically he had more rights to have sex in the sitting room than Mycroft had to walk in without knocking or announcing himself in some way. “Next time I will _lock the door_ Mycroft,” he said dryly, giving up on an effort to cover himself because a naked Sherlock refused to budge from his arms.

John was sure he saw Mycroft’s face change several and interesting colors. First it was pale as a sheet, then it was red as a tomato and finally it became sort of blue with pink spots. Clearly the man was quite scarred by the sight before him and more so by Sherlock’s complete and utter indifference to his presence. No one likes to know about their baby brother’s sex life, especially a dour man like Mycroft, and John’s sense of humor was stoked by the situation Mycroft had gotten himself into. While he was embarrassed to be caught in this state of delicto flagrante, he was aware that Mycroft’s humiliation was far worse than his. _Serves him right for treating this place like a thoroughfare._

John chuckled too. Sherlock was _laughing continuously._

Mycroft gave his brother a death glare, turned and ran into a wall. Then he dropped his umbrella. Finally he stumbled over the threshold before he managed to get out of the flat and rush down the steps. Sherlock’s laughter trailed after him.

***

Half an hour later John was showered, as was Sherlock, and they were seated inside the tent with rudimentary cups, spoons and plates, enjoying what would be a ‘camping dinner’. This was the final step of Sherlock’s plans for the evening.

“Tell me the truth,” John asked as he sipped water from the cup, “You knew Mycroft was coming over, didn’t you?”

“Yes, _I sort of did_ ,” Sherlock said with a shrug and a wink, “Just like he keeps an eye on me, I also track him somewhat and I can create a pattern at times. For the past few days, in the guise of keeping an eye on me whilst you were away, he had been dropping by unannounced every day. I knew he will do that again, despite having found nothing unsavory about my behavior or any suspicious moves from my side. Maybe this experience would keep the panda on its tree, where he can hibernate as long as wants.”

“Pandas _don’t hibernate_ ,” John said.

“Huh? No?”

“Nope. Not enough body fat to live off. Don’t ask me how that’s possible but that’s the truth.”

“Damn!”

“What is this? Sandwiches and fries? What happened to your _pemmican_? Now that I think about it, where is the next batch you had been drying in the oven?”

Sherlock looked sheepish and scratched behind his right ear, something he only did when he was not in a position to smart talk his way out of a situation. “Pemmican is _no good_ ,” he snorted, “Sort of tastes like bland dog food.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, you read it right, this was just an excuse to write more JohnLock smut.


End file.
